Written on 24 April 2019
There are so many Scottish tales of wonder that it's nigh on impossible to find one that isn't widely known.
Such natural storytellers, what with their accents and everything, they love waxing lyrical about crooked lairds, enchanted heather and massive lake dwelling monsters.
But this particular tale, harking from the titanically beautiful Isle of Skye, is not as well known, and that's mostly because it's a tale of sadness and isolation.
You see, Skye used to be a haven for hermits and loners. It was sparsely populated up until the bridge from the mainland was built, and though it's hardly Piccadilly Circus now, it's significantly busier than it once was.
There was one particular hermit who lived to the north east of the island in a stone hut. Little is known about the man, but when his dwelling was discovered, the man was lying on his back in the heather, just a skeleton now, with his hands covering his face. Surrounding him. as if they were family members round a loved one's hospital bed, or like murderers leering over a victim depending on who you ask, were several figures made of bundles of sticks, heather, moss and grass.
They were faceless and alarming to those who discovered the man. Anthropomorphic stick men lurking over a scene of death.
There are many legends that have stemmed from the discovery. Some claimed these were the ghosts of a murdered family who were rewarded for finding and killing their murderer with effigies. Others thought this was the forest, nature and the countryside getting their revenge for being disturbed.
But most likely, and therefore least told, this hermit was probably lonely. Cripplingly lonely. It was obviously hard to tell from the long decomposed bodies, but from the brittle bones to the sparse hair, it appeared he died of malnutrition or thirst. Either that, or he was sick, poisoned by a particularly evil berry.
And this was likely deliberate. The hermit built friends, crafted family, but that doesn't substitute for the real thing.
See, not all folklore is whimsical, or magical, or mysterious. Some are just a little upsetting. I often lie in bed thinking of that man, going mad with loneliness, starving himself to death. I think of him and thank my lucky stars I don't only have myself for company. Cos I am a folklore weirdo, and that must be incredibly annoying.